


A Very Lucky Boy Indeed

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [131]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Caretaking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Secret Crush, Superhusbands (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 21:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15894060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: In retrospect, leaping in front of that bus wasn’t entirely necessary.





	A Very Lucky Boy Indeed

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Heroic gesture (nobility; self-sacrifice; risking self to save someone's life). Prompt from this [generator](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/prompts).
> 
> Note: Peter's 17 here and is only working a crush, but you know. Be warned.

In retrospect, leaping in front of that bus wasn’t entirely necessary.

He could’ve just shouted, could’ve just pushed Mr. Stark really hard. He was probably like heroically obligated to be wearing some kind of tech at all times; with enough actual warning, he could have like up up and flown himself out of the way.

But Peter Parker hadn’t gotten where he was--accidental crime fighter, high school senior, current proud owner of a seriously busted-up leg--without making some semi-dubious choices, like hello, exhibit A: today. Jumping in front of a bus to keep Tony Stark from getting squished.

“You jumped in front of a _bus_?” Captain America said for like the dozenth time.

Peter squirmed. Not easy to do in traction, but he found a way. “Um, yes, sir.”

“Steve, please. Not sir.” He flashed Peter a wan sort of grin. “Don’t see any stripes on your shoulder.”

“Steve, ah. Sure.” He tried to keep his face from going catsup and totally freaking failed. “You, ah--”

Steve cut him off. “Look, I guess I keep asking because I don’t quite understand why you would do something like that.” He perched on the stool by the bed, squinted down at Peter, his eyes less serious now, more compassionate. “He’s a grown man, you know. It’s hard to tell sometimes, I get that, but Tony is an actual full-grown adult.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “but he didn’t see the bus coming. Stepped right out into the street.”

“Was he on his phone or something?”

“No, ah”--Peter cleared his throat--“he was talking to me? Over his shoulder, kind of? And he just, um, stepped off the curb and--”

“And you ended up on the pavement with the fractured leg.”

“Well, yeah, but, I’m fine. Really, Captain--Steve. I’m ok.”

Steve shook his head, a grin sneaking out over his face. “I hate to break it to you, kid, but you’re not.” He reached down and ruffled Peter’s hair. “You’re stuck in this thing for at least a couple of weeks, even with you, ah, what did Tony call them? Oh, your _weird flexy spider bones_. I assume that’s a technical term.”

“Well, I mean, thanks for not, um, making me be in the hospital for this. I mean, this is kind of a hospital here, what with the beeping boxes and needles and stuff, but it’s not--” He stopped. “This is way better than a real hospital, is what I’m saying. I hate hospitals. May does, too. It’ll be a lot easier for her to like, come visit me here. I mean, if that’s ok. If she’s allowed to--”

Steve patted his shoulder, gave it a warm, gentle squeeze. “Of course she’s allowed. Tony’s already called her. I made him do it personally.”

Peter’s voice was smaller than he wanted. “Is she mad?”

“At you? No. At Tony? God, I hope so. It’s high time he faced the wrath of somebody’s mom.”

“She’s not my--”

That hand again, another firm press. “She is in all the ways that count, though. That’s what matters. If you get hurt--even if it’s for a good reason--she has the first right of worry, the first right to bite Tony’s fool head off, don’t you think?”

Peter yawned, which was definitely rude, but it wasn’t a planned thing; more like an order something was sending his body. All at once, he was super, super tired. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled. “Yes, Steve.”

Steve patted his cheek. “I can see why Tony likes you, kiddo.”

Another yawn, this one the kind that ate up his whole face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The world was sort of shady now, like shadows were eating up the sun. Or at least the big overhead lights. Steve was disappearing, to, fading into a muddy gray fog. “You get some rest, ok? I’ll be back in a little bit. Or Tony will.”

“...’kay.”

Peter heard the scrape of the stool, the rise of Steve’s voice, talking to---someone?

“Keep an eye on him, FRIDAY.”

“Yes, Captain Rogers.”

“He so much as twitches funny, I want to know.”

A woman’s voice, thick, that seemed to be coming from all around, up above. “I’ll be monitoring his vital signs, Captain. Should anything be amiss, I’ll immediately alert you and the boss. But in all honesty, he’s lucky he broke his leg and not his head. T’wasn’t the smartest thing he could’ve done, was it?”

There was a rush of air, like a door opening, and as Peter melted into his pillow, sank like caramel into the bed, Steve said: “No, it wasn’t. He’s a very lucky boy indeed.”

 

*****

 

“So your aunt,” Tony said conversationally, “is kind of not the president of my fan club right now. She may in fact be planning to kill me.”

“No,” Peter said around a spoonful of Jello--the red kind, the best. “She’s a very non-violent person, Mr. Stark. She doesn’t even like killing cockroaches.”

“Yeah, well, I think cockroaches have one up on me today. And for the foreseeable future, frankly.” Tony stood up and stretched. “Though she may have to compete with Steve. He’s fucking furious with me, you know. Hasn’t said ten words to me today. Tonight. Whatever.”

“What time is it?”

“Oh, uh, I have no freaking clue. FRIDAY?”

“It is currently 3:12 AM, boss.”

“Right, see, it’s three o’clock in the morning and I’m down here with you instead of upstairs where I should be, asleep. Or at least listening to Steve saw some serious logs. He refuses to believe that he snores, you believe that? I’ve shown him tapes and everything. Swears I’m doctoring it to make him look bad. _Captain America doesn’t snore_! He actually said that to me once. And I’m pretty sure he was serious.”

“Um, Mr. Stark?”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m ok. I mean, you don’t have to keep me company or anything. I’m fine. I just woke up and I was hungry, so the computer lady--”

“FRIDAY. She’s got a proper name, kid.”

“FRIDAY, yeah. She had a robot thing bring me some Jello.”

“The robot thing is named DUM-E, Peter, and you’re damn lucky he brought you actual Jello and not an exploding cake or a nail gun or something. His brain works in mysterious ways.”

“W-what? Sir, what I meant was, you don’t have to be here. You can go back to, uh, bed or whatever with Captain--with Steve. I’m sure he misses you.”

Tony laughed. “Misses me? Misses--? Peter, how many actual married people have you known? Or spent actual time with?”

“Um, my aunt and uncle, I guess, before he, ah--and my parents, but I don’t really remember much about--”

“Well then let me break it to you gently, kiddo: most married people, truth be told, they like live for the moments when they get the whole bed to themselves. We spread out like fucking starfish when we’re alone. Take all the best pillows, always have access to the coolest spot in the sheets. And yes, even Captain goddamn America is a bed hog when you let him be, which is saying something, believe me, because we have a fucking huge bed.”

Peter was clutching the now-empty bowl for dear life. “Mr. Stark?”

Tony turned from his reverie, his robe flapping, the lights from the beeping boxes behind Peter’s head catching the pale stretch of his bare chest. “Huh?”

“You’re married to Captain America?!”

“Oh yeah,” Tony said with a wave of his hand. “Of course. Why else would I put up with his bed hogging and occasional sanctimonious bullshit?” He took a step closer and peered into Peter’s face. “Wait, did you not know that? I thought it was like internet common knowledge.”

“You can’t believe anything you read on the internet.”

“Well, yeah. But some of it’s true.” Tony’s lips twitched. “You really didn’t know?”

Peter gave up every pretense of cool. “I had no idea.”

“Oh, jesus. I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you. Or he should have. Did he not mention it, at least? Refer to me in some long-suffering way as _my idiot spouse_? He does that sometimes.”

“No, no. Nothing like that.”

“Huh. Well, if you’re gonna be stuck with us for a couple of weeks, Peter, then fair’s fair. You should know the whole skinny: Captain America is, yes, in fact, married to me, and when we’re not making out like teenagers--which we will not be doing in your presence, just to be clear--and/or saving the world, we fight over dumb shit like who didn’t do the dishes (Steve) or who got WD-40 on the sheets (probably me) and we act, truth be told, like a couple of wet cats sometimes. You may hear squabbling. There may be occasional yelling. But what it boils down to, what you should take away from this, is that we love each other to the point of no reason--to the point of stupid, Nat calls it sometimes--and for that very reason, we make each other crazy, but only in the best of all possible ways, if you wanna go all _Candide_ about it.”

What was going through Peter’s head had zero business coming out of his mouth-- _you’re married? Married shit, shit, I can’t have a crush on somebody who’s married! That's not ok on so many levels! Bad enough that you’re old(er) and rich and old but you’re Captain America’s husband, Mr. Stark?! What in the actual fuck_ \--so what he said was:

“You, ah, wow. Wow. Ok.”


End file.
